


Caterwaul

by Poemsingreenink



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, cats love billy, off key singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: They’d been comfortably fucking for a little more than three months before Billy finally let Goodnight hold him.





	

They’d been comfortably fucking for a little more than three months before Billy finally let Goodnight hold him. Thought the circumstances weren’t exactly what Goodnight would have described as ‘ideal’.

“Just, don’t move.”

It wasn’t as though Billy’d been a cold marble statue of a man during the time they’d been together. Goodnight was prone to demonstrative behavior while in the company of total strangers, and it was a character trait that only got worse with friends. He and Billy hadn’t been traveling together a week before he’d been slapping him hard on the back after a well-won shooting match, and casually touching his arm while describing just what kind of designs could be carved out of the thick white clouds above.

“I won’t.”

Alcohol exacerbated the issue, but if any of this casual contact had been deemed unwelcome Billy’d done a great job at hiding it. Granted, Billy had rolled out of reach in the afterglow of their first sexual encounter, but the next morning as they’d cleaned up their camp he’d gifted Goodnight with a smile so bright it was practically a beam so Goodnight hadn’t taken it too personally. Some things just took time.  

“There a problem, Billy?”

When he’d first stormed into the room and hulled Goodnight out of his seat he’d half expected a punch to follow, but once he had a hold of him Billy’d seemed unsure of what to do next. Which was a shame since Goodnight was just as lost. 

“Yes, there’s a problem.”

There was a fistful of Goodnight’s vest twisted up in Billy’s hands. One of the buttons was probably digging into his palm. pressing a round indentation into the calloused flesh.

“Can I solve your problem?”

He figured the command to not move meant moving _away,_ so Goodnight cautiously wrapped his arms round Billy’s shoulders. The muscles under his hand were so tense they were faintly trembling.

“No.”

Goodnight took a step forward, and gently tugged Billy closer. He came without protest.

“Can I punch your problem in the teeth?”

He’d been hoping for a laugh. What he got was silence punctuated by Billy’s harsh breathing. It was a ragged, painful sound as though he’d been shoved underwater by an unexpected wave, and had just managed to kick his way back to the surface.

“ _Please_ , don’t move.”

Since one arm had been welcomed, Goodnight slung the other around Billy’s back. He was warm and solid, and close enough to Goodnight that when he tipped his head forward he ended up with his face smashed against Goodnight’s shoulder. 

“I think you’re going to get a crick in your neck you stay like this for long, but I won’t.”

Billy didn’t respond, and Goodnight took a moment to carefully listen to the noise around them. It hadn’t sounded like Billy was downstairs kicking the tar out of the righteous men of Burnt Fish Junction (Population 342). Then again, it was oddly quite. almost too quiet. The last few hours of Goodnight’s life had been spent brooding over people long dead, and battles long lost, and Billy was a fast, scrappy son of a bitch. It was very possible that he’d disposed of any source of violence so quickly that Goodnight just hadn’t heard.

Still, the aftermath of a fight very rarely sent Billy ducking for cover.

“Not that I much mind,” Goodnight said, digging his knuckles into the knots of Billy’s back. “But we’re not standing over a bar full of dead men, are we Billy? I only ask because we are located on the second floor of this charming establishment, and if we have to make a run for it I’d rather do it before the sheriff blocks the front door.”

Goodnight jumped as a sudden cheer erupted from the floor below. Someone started plinking away at the piano, and a host of voices didn’t so much join as they did slam together drunkenly in song.

“Well, that answered that,” Goodnight mumbled.

The music steadily crescendoed until Goodnight wondered if half the residents had dropped by to lend a voice. He dipped his head, and pressed his mouth to Billy’s ear.

“You’re starting to worry me here, Bill.”

Billy turned his head, knocking their noses together, and putting Goodnight in a position to stare deeply into Billy’s eyes. His lovely, dark brown eyes with their completely blown pupils.

“Well, looks like you climbed to some high altitudes while you were gone,” Goodnight said.

“I went to buy opium,” Billy said.

“You smoked some of it?” Goodnight asked. “Already?”

Billy started to nod his head, but froze his eyes snapping shut. “Yes, but I didn’t buy it. It smelled off.”

“Come again?”

“I always test it before I buy it,” Billy said. “In case it’s bad. I can’t give it to you if it’s bad.”

Billy’s eyes opened, and he looked so concerned it just about broke Goodnight’s heart.

“You didn’t smoke any of it right?”

The opium wasn’t some darkly kept secret between the two of them never to be spoken of in the light of day, but they’d never actually discussed where the damn stuff was coming from. Whenever they’d run low Billy had always gone out alone, and come back with a fresh supply that he’d happily shared. Goodnight hadn’t thought to question the process, and a very familiar wave of shame rushed through his stomach. 

“No, darling. I haven’t smoked anything all day.”

When Billy was back in his right mind he’d insist they did this sort of thing together from now on. It just wasn’t safe for Billy to be out on his own high as a kestrel soaring along a fair wind.  

“Is my tongue okay? It feels light.”  

Billy stuck his tongue out for examination, and looked at Goodnight expectantly. It was such an uncharacteristic move on Billy’s part that Goodnight was stunned into absolute silence.

“Looks just fine, _cher_ ,” Goodnight assured, hurriedly. “Just fine.”

Boot stomping joined the caterwaul of voices from below, and whatever half of the town had been absent for the singing must have stumbled through the door for the stomping because the building shook under the impact.

“The building. The building is shaking,” Billy said. “Everything was spinning before, but now the building shaking. Is the train coming?”

“The building _is_ moving,” Goodnight said. “But there’s no train for miles.”

“I can’t be here if the train is coming,” Billy groaned. “The railroad shakes everything apart. It’ll shake me to pieces.”

Goodnight nuzzled the side of Billy’s head. If Billy went sprinting for the outside Goodnight would follow, but dragging him back to the room would be a messy affair that he wanted to avoid at all costs. He started to shuffle them backwards, tugging Billy along as he made for the bed.

“You can’t go to pieces, Billy,” Goodnight soothed. “That’s my job. You’re coming right over to this bed to lie down with me, and you'll feel better.” 

As they passed by the window he was greeted by the yawning maw of the small calico cat that had been Billy’s constant shadow ever since they wandered into town. It cocked its head to the side, one ragged ear flicked back in annoyance at the noise.

“He’s busy right now,” Goodnight said. “Come back tomorrow.”

It responded by leaping to the floor, and winding quickly between his legs.

“Oh yes, that’s very helpful,” Goodnight muttered.

When he felt the back of his knees hit the mattress he tightened his hold, and took Billy’s chin in hand until he was sure he had his attention.

“I’m going to lie back, and take you with me. You’re going to feel like you’re falling because you will be, but don’t worry. You’re not hallucinating, and I’ve got you.”

Confused, Billy blinked. “Falling?”

“Remember,” Goodnight said, already rocking back on his heels. “I’ve got you.”

They hit the mattress together, and their combined weight made the bed frame groan and buckle. It took a little bit of maneuvering to get them into a more comfortable position, but soon he had Billy sprawled on top of him.

“You can let go of my shirt,” Goodnight suggested. “Your hand would probably appreciate the reprieve.”

“No.”

Over Billy’s head, Goodnight spotted the cat leap onto the corner desk. It looked Goodnight square in the face, and the pushed his empty flask off the edge. It landed with a crash, and had Goodnight not been holding Billy so tightly he suspected that the other man would have rolled off the bed and gone sprinting for the door.

“It’s fine. Absolutely fine. It’s just a cat. That tiny thing you’ve been feeding under the table. Remember that one?” The cat climbed into Goodnight’s upturned hat and began to delicately shred the lining. “Oh you little son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“Not you. Never mind. It’s not a problem.”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a howl leapt over the song, raced up the stairs and slammed against the door. The cat lashed its tail, and yowled loudly in complaint. 

“I was loud before," Billy said his speech growing slow and stretched. "Like the train. My parents always complained."

This was unfamiliar territory. Billy hardly ever spoke of his family, his home country, or whatever might have been before he set food in California. There were times when Goodnight wondered if Billy had just come walking out of the ocean one day. A sea creature who'd decide to give dry land a try. 

Below them the song shifted to something slower, and more melancholy. 

"I hate this song," Billy said, voice muffled.

An irritated yowl, louder than the first since it was right at Goodnight's ear, agreed. The cat butted its small face against Goodnight's head, and gave his cheeks a sniff. 

"Shoo!" Goodnight hissed.

He blew on it, the gust of breath strong enough that it made the cat's whiskers twitch. The barn cat of childhood had hated that little move, but this one just yawned. She planted all her weight onto Goodnight’s throat before leaping gracefully onto Billy’s back and curling into a ball.

“There’s something on my back,” Billy muttered. 

“It’s just the cat,” Goodnight said, narrowing his eyes at it.

The cat began to purr.  

Billy raised his head. “That wasn't opium. The building is moving. We were falling, but now we’re not, and there’s a cat on my back.”

“All correct.”

“…and my tongue’s okay?”

“Pretty as a picture,” he reassured.

“And you’ve got me.”

“And I’ve got you.” 

"And you’re not going to move?"

"Wild horses couldn’t drag me away."

"There are horses here?"

Goodnight cupped the back of Billy's head, and got his finger pricked by Billy's hair pin.

"Doesn't matter."

His hand went lower, and small needle sharp claws dug into the skin.

"It's not important."

He settled it on Billy's neck, and dug his thumb into the hard muscle.

"Just lay here with me a while. It'll all be fine."

Below them, someone let out a joyous 'whoop'. The song picked back up, and the building shuddered under the renewed enthusiastic stomping.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> -I have no idea what kind of stuff could be done to opium to create a bad reaction or any reaction at all. Just go with it. 
> 
> -This might shock all of you to know, but I really like cats. 
> 
> -Hi kids. This is an important message from your Aunt Poems. Don't buy drugs. Become a pop star, and they give you them for free!


End file.
